


Tell Them This Love Hasn't Changed Me

by conwalshs



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Connor Walsh/Oliver (HTGAWM) - Freeform, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conwalshs/pseuds/conwalshs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor’s first dream about his soulmate didn’t feel at all conventional, though there wasn’t much logic to be found in a theory that suggested soulmates existed, anyway.</p>
<p>At least in Connor’s eyes, there wasn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First you get close, then you get buried

**Author's Note:**

> I've started writing a short soulmate!AU chapter fic. Originally I posted on my tumblr, (conwalshs if anyone wants to creep) but after a few requests to make an account here, I figured it might be a good idea to get some feedback and read other people's writing as well. I'm painfully new to this site, so please excuse any mistakes I may or may not have made in tagging/rating, etc.
> 
> This story isn't meant to be a long one--it won't have a huge word count by the end of it. I guess you could consider it a mini fic. It's completely AU, so it's going to stray from canon elements of Coliver in time.

“I had another dream about her last night.”

Connor’s resolve to swallow back the onslaught of groans and eye rolls at Aiden’s expense is all but gone, allotted as graciously as he could possibly make it over the past couple days. Instead, he decides to let himself indulge in the urge. This is the fifth time the girl has been brought up throughout the week, and the fact that it’s only Wednesday speaks volumes as to how thin Connor’s patience has been stretched.

“What did she do this time? Suck you off until you realized that you’re too gay to be with a woman? Sounds about right to me.” Connor retorts, opting to utilize his snark as a defense mechanism. He doesn’t want to hear about her. It’s a lot easier to swallow the entire situation if he can pretend she doesn’t even exist.

Aiden tosses a french fry, just barely missing Connor’s right cheek. “Not a sex dream, unfortunately. Haven’t had one of those with her yet.”

“How telling.”

Picking up another fry, Aiden tosses it with more precision this time, the tip of it hitting Connor square in the nose. He laughs, welcoming the distraction instead of speaking about her. But he knows that the topic is far from over. Knowing Aiden, it’ll be a recurring discussion for years to come.

Aiden continues on thoughtfully, as if Connor hadn’t been rejecting the conversation just a moment before. “I wonder if she’s been having the same dreams as me. That’s how it works, right? You dream the same things they do if you’re both dreaming about one another?”

Connor shrugs, both because he’s not sure and he doesn’t give a shit. “Guess so, if you wanna believe that.” he mumbles, stirring his mashed potatoes with more attention than it truly deserves.

“It’s a proven fact that you share dreams with you soulmate, Connor. You can’t be all cynical about something that’s concrete.”

“Hasn’t happened for me.” he argues.

“Bullshit.”

“Not a one. I have dreams about fucking a lot of guys, but never the same one twice. No one pops up frequently.”

Aiden seems a little brought up short, but quickly bounces back with his own rebuttal. “But you’ve got the letters showing up on you, right? Maybe the dreaming kicks in later. You’ve got a soulmate anyway.”

Scowling, he subconsciously tugs at his sleeve, covering up the letters on the inside of his wrist. There’s only two, an O and a L, but to Connor, that’s two letters too many. The third letter has just begun to show up, still faint and half-formed. He hasn’t even bothered trying to guess which one it’ll be or how soon he’ll be able to see it clearly, because yet again – he doesn’t care.

At all.

Seriously, he doesn’t care.

He searches his mind for a way to debunk Aiden’s new defense, scoffing obnoxiously once he thinks one up. “With my luck, it’ll be a chick’s name on my wrist. And we both know I wouldn’t touch a woman with a ten foot pole.”

Aiden laughs with his mouth full—a goofy, lighthearted grin that makes Connor’s chest heat up. “You might end up straight one day, Walsh. Trading cock for cunt, what a plot twist.”

“About as probable as the apocalypse; which I would welcome before anything like that could ever happen.” he adds, pointing at Aiden with his plastic fork before dropping it on his tray. He doesn’t have an appetite anymore.

“You never know, dude. I really thought my soulmate would be a guy, but look at me.”

“Your letters are M-I-C-H so far, Aiden. I’m pretty sure that’s gonna turn into Michael.” Connor snaps back at him, aggravated for more reasons than he can adequately sum up in the moment.

Even when the two met, Aiden’s M had already appeared; Connor knew that they weren’t going to be soulmates from the start. But it was easy enough to ignore until each new letter came in, and then once his dreams began, Connor’s annoyance turned to blatant bitterness.

“Then why am I dreaming of a girl?”

Connor shrugs, his lips pulling up into a smug grin. “Wishful thinking?”

As it hits six o’clock, the cafeteria begins to close down, Connor and Aiden taking that as their cue to pack up and head back to their room. Heading up along the staircase, he’s glad for the silence between them, hoping that it might usher in a fresh start for the rest of the evening.

But as soon as they reach their room, Aiden’s back to hypothesizing and thinking aloud, until Connor takes a few paces across the room to grab the boy by his waist. He crushes his lips deliberately over Aiden’s, cupping his cheek and nipping along his jaw.

“What, worried I’ll stop wanting to do you as soon as I meet her?” Aiden jokes warmly, like he truly means it in jest, but it’s a little too realistic of a concern for Connor. It makes him bite down harder on his skin while he works his way down his neck, his hands slithering up the bottom of his shirt at the same time.

“You’ll still want me when you meet her. You’ll always want me.” Connor replies, realizing that it’s not an attempt to assure Aiden, but to convince himself.

He tugs Aiden’s shirt off and returns to his lips, shoving the boy down on his bed before crawling on top of him.

The only thing Connor hates about getting intimate with him is the fact that those letters are always staring him right in the face while they fuck, situated right over his heart in the most cliché, cheesy way possible. It takes all of Connor’s willpower not to gag at the sight of it.

It should be his name being spelled slowly but surely on Aiden’s chest.

He should be the person showing up in Aiden’s dreams.

But how ridiculous would that be, anyway? Soulmates don’t exist.

Instead of dwelling on it, Connor works on giving Aiden the fuck of his life, hoping that if he can outdo himself each time, it won’t even matter whenever his other half decides to pop up. He’ll have made a mark all his own; one strong enough to outweigh whatever cosmic bullshit the universe apparently has in store.


	2. 40 Day Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You alright?” Aiden mumbles in a language that sounds similar enough to English, even though he’s 98% asleep and 2% awake.
> 
> Connor nods, the front of his hair flipping in his face messily. “Just had a weird dream. Actually, I might even call it a nightmare.” he responds, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands until he can feel that pleasurable burn settling in. “It would have felt real if it hadn’t been so goddamn bizarre.”
> 
> “What happened in it?”
> 
> Connor hesitates for a second, curling in a bit closer to Aiden and resting his hand on his chest. “Met my soulmate.” he mumbles, dreading the laugh that Aiden lets out a second later.
> 
> “What’s he like?”
> 
> “Total fucking nerd.”
> 
> “Sounds like a match made.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for a few tidbits about the next chapter! Enjoy!

Connor’s first dream about his soulmate didn’t feel at all conventional, though there wasn’t much logic to be found in a theory that suggested soulmates existed, anyway. At least in Connor’s eyes, there wasn’t.

Turning in his spot, he leans further into Aiden’s side, accidentally stirring him awake with his movement.

“You alright?” Aiden mumbles in a language that sounds similar enough to English, even though he’s 98% asleep and 2% awake.

Connor nods, the front of his hair flipping in his face messily. “Just had a weird dream. Actually, I might even call it a nightmare.” he responds, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands until he can feel that pleasurable burn settling in. “It would have felt real if it hadn’t been so goddamn bizarre.”

“What happened in it?”

Connor hesitates for a second, curling in a bit closer to Aiden and resting his hand on his chest. “Met my soulmate.” he mumbles, dreading the laugh that Aiden lets out a second later.

“Told you so.” he quips, prompting Connor to turn onto his side and boycott Aiden’s body heat. He knew he was going to be a dick about it, if the time ever came. “Come on, don’t be like that.” the other boy murmurs, also turning to spoon Connor. His hand slithers up along his chest to bring them closer together. “What’s he like?”

“Total fucking nerd.”

“Sounds like a match made.” 

Tipping his head back a little, Connor exhales, aggravated to find that some parts of the dream were honestly too vivid to forget.

———————

It’s like he’s back in grade school, surrounded by peers that he can’t even help but find nauseatingly inferior. He isn’t sure how he got to this party, or where it even is, but Connor’s main concern as he enters is where he can find some alcohol.

He recognizes a few faces from various grades, though everyone seems to be in differing age ranges from one another. The fact doesn’t necessarily bother him, so he shrugs it off and continues walking in the direction he assumes is the kitchen.

It reminds him of the one time he hosted a party at his house after his parents left on a business trip, but luckily that time, he’d been holed up with one of the hottest guys in his grade for most of the evening. If he could manage to make an encore of the feat, there was a chance that the night wouldn’t end terribly.

Before he can make a swift beeline to the vodka bottle he sees sitting teasingly on the counter, (and it looks nearly full—which truly seems too good to be true) he’s suddenly whisked in the opposite direction by no one in particular. Where he finds himself next is a living room, a bunch of people situated on the floor in a circle.

Which can only mean one thing.

“No, no, not spin the bottle. Are we prepubescent or something?” Connor grumbles to himself, spotting Aiden in the bunch. He makes his way over to him, shooting him a perplexed stare. “What exactly is this? I’m dying to get drunk, not make out with some inexperienced asswipes.”

“There’s a point to it, I promise.” Aiden says with a wide smile, his eyes darting around the circle.

“Which is…?”

“You get paired up with your soulmate, how cool is that?”

Connor’s jaw might as well be resting on the floor, and his stomach is twisting into a knot that even the hardest of liquor wouldn’t be able to undo. “Cool? Are you- what the hell?” Connor sputters, but the group is already getting started with the entire thing before he can get a better explanation. He wants to get up and leave, but for a reason he can’t figure out, his legs feel clamped to the floor, indian style. The conflicting sensations of his brain telling him to go but body forcing him to stay is driving him crazy, jittery nerves swarming through his system as a result.

“We’re going to get started, everyone!” a female voice calls out, and he recognizes it. It’s Gina Patterson, from his seventh grade History class—before he started attending boarding school.

“What the fuck is Gina Patterson doing here?” he mutters to Aiden, who shrugs in reply.

“Maybe it’s her party?”

“The last thing I remember about Gina is that she got in trouble for giving a guy a blowjob in the utility closet during the pep rally. I’ve literally never thought about her otherwise.” he says to himself, having lost Aiden’s attention span for good.

Gina begins speaking again, her voice too cheery for Connor’s liking. “But we’re putting a twist on things! Instead of spin the bottle, since let’s be honest – we’re all tired of it,” she says, a chorus of nods and agreements coming from the other people in the circle, “We’re going to be doing seven minutes in heaven.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Connor mutters under his breath, still caught up in the notion that this entire game centers around soulmates, which he sincerely wants no part of. None of it makes sense anyway; how do any of them know who their soul mate is?

“We’ll still be using the bottle to pair people up, but then seven minutes gets put on the clock and you get to do whatever you want in the coat closet.” Gina says in a sing-song tone, placing the bottle in the center before giving it a spin.

Connor sits and waits, his eyes closed until he feels a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Walsh, you’re up.”Aiden says beside him, which really figures, since he’s quite obviously the least willing participant.

Once more, it feels as if he’s hardly in control of his body, getting up and making his way over to the closet.

'The irony of this location,' he thinks to himself, his annoyance only tripling as he realizes his supposed “other half” is already there.

Once the door is shut behind them, closing the two into the small space, there’s only a small amount of light filtering in from beneath the door. There’s no way to make out the other guy’s features, but Connor can feel his chest pressing snugly up against his own.

“I…I’m…” the guy stutters, but Connor quickly cuts him off.

“No, I don’t care who you are so don’t bother introducing yourself.” he interjects, shaking his head. Normally he’d be jumping the guy’s bones by now, but with the notion that this could possibly be his soulmate, Connor’s less than willing to get involved.

Even though they certainly don’t exist, of course.

“Seven minutes can’t last that long, can it?” Connor rants, pushing his hair back as he hears the other guy’s breathing picking up. For a moment, he thinks he’s just getting turned on by the proximity, which would be irritating enough, but then he can also feel his heart ramming around rapidly right in front of him.

“No, I’m…I’m c-claustrophobic.” he manages to say between heavy breaths, quite obviously beginning to hyperventilate.

“Jesus— they literally stuck me in here with a claustrophobic person? Seriously?” Connor reaches for the door and attempts to turn the door knob, but it doesn’t budge. “And of course, they locked us in here for the full seven minutes. I can’t fucking believe this.” he goes on, but the guy’s breathing is only getting worse, and he can feel his frame trembling with building intensity.

“I- I can’t b-breathe, I can’t-” he gasps, reaching for Connor’s shoulders. This isn’t even remotely sexy, which is just his luck, considering the situation.

“Dude, dude, calm down. Just calm down.” he says, making a lame attempt at comforting him. It isn’t working, and he’s sure only a couple minutes have passed, if that.

It only takes a second for Connor to remember something he’d heard somewhere, quickly moving to try and settle the other boy’s nerves. Leaning in, he aims for his mouth as best as he can without any light, kissing him deeply to bring his breathing back to a normal level. Connor can feel something he assumes is glasses going slightly askew, his hand moving up to make sure they don’t fall off the guy’s face.

He lets himself linger for a few moments, breaking away from the kiss slowly.

The two stand in silence, relief filling Connor as he hears the other guy’s breathing slowing, slowing, slowing, until it sounds like something close to normal.

“Uh…I heard that you can like, stop a panic attack if you, you know, kiss a person.” Connor mumbles, feeling slightly awkward. He can’t help but find it ironic that impulsively fucking a guy wouldn’t leave him shaken up, but kissing one in the hopes of calming him down—one that could very well be his soulmate—has him trembling almost as much as the other guy was moments before.

Because it actually felt nice to be kissing him. It almost felt second nature.

“Oh,” he says softly, a nervous laugh tumbling from his lips. “Um, thanks.”

Connor tries to straighten up in his spot, gnawing down on his bottom lip. “No problem.”

“I really—” the guy starts saying, before the door swings open and Gina Fucking Patterson is standing right there, a huge grin on her face.

“Did you two lovebirds have fun? Now out, out, time for the next couple.” she says, motioning to shoo them both out back into the living room.

Before Connor can get a good look at the other boy, he’s already leaving, practically bounding around the corner to get out of sight.

Not that he can blame him. He’d probably be mortified if he had a panic attack in a closet, too.

———————

“And then I woke up.”

“You didn’t get his name or anything?”

“I told him I didn’t care.”

Aiden scoffs, his voice sounding somewhat more aware now. “If that had been me, and I was in the closet with my girl, I would have been getting a ton of details in between kissing her. I wouldn’t have wasted a second.”

There’s a handful of reasons for Connor to be feeling terrible right now, and Aiden being lovesick over his to-be soulmate isn’t helping matters. “Yeah, well, that’s why you’re you and I’m me. My soulmate just had a panic attack all over me, I wasn’t really given the chance to work through the getting-to-know-you questions.”

“Did you like him at least?”

Taking a moment to think, Connor shrugs, deciding not to make a mention of the kiss.

Or how it’s still very much on his mind. The dream hardly felt real at all, everything about it so nonsensical, but kissing him made Connor feel more locked into reality than anything else he’d ever experienced in his life. All in one chaste kiss.

“He’s alright.” he finally answers, pulling the covers up over his head and forcing himself back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, this story has been set back when Connor was in boarding school with Aiden. That's going to change in the next chapter, and it'll jump to what we'd consider present time in canon -- Connor attending law school, taking Criminal Law 100, etc etc. From here, it's really going to start picking up. I'm still undecided on how many parts this fic will have, but I'll play it by ear!


	3. Wide-eyed, like we're in a crime scene.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wears a watch on his left wrist all the time. It’s not because he cares what time it is.
> 
> The band is just thick enough that it covers the area of text found on his skin, the six letters obscured behind the leather material. It took three more years, but eventually they all came out clear, as if he’d had the name tattooed on him just recently. Crisp, black ink showing up on the otherwise pale expanse.
> 
> He hated the name Oliver already, and he didn’t even know the man it belonged to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back to read more of the story! I just wanted to say a couple things before it starts off.
> 
> 1) I appreciate the feedback on this story more than I can say, truly. It's encouraging, flattering, and exciting to be writing in such an enthusiastic fandom.  
> 2) Michaela won't be painted in the kindest light in this story. This, however, is not a reflection of my personal feelings about her. Personally, I love the heck out of Michaela. It just so happens that Connor does not.  
> 3) Like I said at the end of the last chapter, there's a bit of a time skip now. Connor is in law school, and I decided to implement his lie about working in a bank into the story. So in this, he actually does have a job at a bank.

Connor wears a watch on his left wrist all the time. It's not because he cares what time it is.

The band is just thick enough that it covers the area of text found on his skin, the six letters obscured behind the leather material. It took three more years, but eventually they all came out clear, as if he'd had the name tattooed on him just recently. Crisp, black ink showing up on the otherwise pale expanse.

The watch stays on, and it never comes off. When asked whether or not he has all his letters, Connor simply shrugs and insists that he never got any. It's a believable enough lie; occasionally a person doesn't ever have the dreams or get a name on their body. While that's typically seen as some sort of tragedy, Connor would consider it a blessing if only he'd been so lucky.

He hated the name Oliver already, and he didn't even know the man it belonged to.

“Another day, another dick.” he mumbles under his breath, feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket for the umpteenth time today.

There's no such thing as frivolous fun anymore, much to Connor's dismay. Despite every safeguard he puts up to ensure that no one he sleeps with could ever get the idea—or even an inkling of an idea—that he would be up for something committed. If his cock didn't have a mind of its own, he might quit hooking up altogether, if only to spare himself the migraine of dodging guy after guy.

This particular one from last night is being especially persistent, each of the voicemails he's left filled with increasingly pathetic pleas and bargains.

It's a shame; he wasn't all that bad in bed.

Connor's job at the bank keeps him busy when he's not in class, but he makes sure to have his evenings free to do whatever he wants. Lately, that's consisted of staying late and working his ass off to impress Professor Keating. Law school has been everything and nothing like what he imagined, but the thrill of having inferiors to compete with at any given moment has been a gratifying perk for him.

With his classes in the morning and his work in between, Connor's merely going through the motions of waiting for the more exciting part of his day to begin. It's only been a few months of working at the bank, but being new hasn't stopped him from picking it up quickly.

His fantasies of pulling off a grand heist have also increased in frequency, but he's yet to act on those.

The one thing he's been grateful for is the fact that he hasn't encountered _him_ yet. In a job where he mingles and speaks with people constantly, the likelihood of eventually coming face to face with his worst nightmare is a big one.

The dreams have kept up over time, teasing clarity showing up intermittently as the months have gone on. At times, he can make out a clear silhouette of him, or hear his voice resonating in a specific, unique way. It makes Connor think that if he heard the man speak in person, he'd be able to pick him out of a crowd.

Not that he'd want to. Why bother? He doesn't care about whoever the guy is.

With his luck, he's probably ugly as all hell, anyway.

In the time that's elapsed since beginning Criminal Law 100 with Professor Keating, Connor has dropped just about every connection he had in boarding school. It's partly because he has no problem cutting ties with people who would take extra effort to stay in contact with, and partly because he'd slept with half of his graduating class. Perhaps even three quarters.

A fresh start was long overdue, to put it simply.

Making new friends hasn't been a cake walk, but he can mostly blame that on the cut throat mentality that exists in law school. There aren't supposed to be friends in such a competitive environment, and if there are, it's only a matter of time until one half shows their true colors. To Connor, it's a waste of time to pretend to be anything he's not. If that turns him into something of a social recluse, so be it.

He'd much rather be feared and despised by his peers over being disregarded by his superiors. It's all about getting ahead of the game, knowing the right move to make to show one's worth. Connor knows he has what it takes, so long as he doesn't let anything else distract him.

Around four o'clock, just an hour shy of closing time, a familiar face walks in through the entrance and it takes every ounce of reserve Connor has not to audibly groan.

“You seriously work here? At _my_ bank?”

Connor's head turns from left to right, his eyes scanning the area obnoxiously. _“Your_ bank? I'm sorry, I guess I neglected to see your name written all over the establishment, my mistake.”

Michaela's greeting isn't any less frigid than he figured it would be, which suits him just fine, since he can't stomach the sight of her either. Out of everyone he's been working with as of late, she's the most irritating of the bunch, but also the most intimidating. It's not something he would admit aloud, but he makes a point to keep an eye specifically on her for that reason.

Wes is the epitome of a puppy, Laurel only cares about what she considers social justice and her moral compass, and Asher is quite literally the very last person Connor would ever have to consider competition. It's Michaela who has enough drive and wit to give him a run for his money.

She shoots him a glare, and he thinks she's an idiot for giving the guy who's about to manage her bank account grief. She's exactly the kind of person he wouldn't mind fucking with and losing his job over. It'd be well worth the trouble

“I need to withdraw some cash.” she says, extending her bank card to him.

“Ever heard of an ATM?”

Glaring again, she shakes her head. “I'm not an idiot, but I also have places to be and I'd rather not wait in the seven-person long line to withdraw forty dollars.”

“But is dealing with me any better than waiting out there?” he asks, successfully shutting Michaela up while her account information displays on the screen.

While he's getting her money ready, he hears the door open again and can't help but do a double take, the person walking in taking him by surprise.

“I didn't see you in the line so I figured you might—” the man says, stopping short as his eyes fall on Connor. “Connor Walsh? Seriously?” he gapes, his mouth stretched into a wide grin as he approaches them.

Aiden doesn't look any different from the last time they saw one another, except perhaps a little more built (in all the right places, Connor can't help but notice) and he's donning more facial hair than he used to. But his appearance, his disposition, it's all the same as he remembers it.

Connor feels flooded with a conflicting combination of nostalgia and confusion, only putting the pieces together as he looks between Michaela and Aiden.

His letters had been M-I-C-H-A the last time they spoke.

And it was only a few letters shy of Michaela's full name.

“Aiden freaking Walker, goddamn,” he replies, smiling as genuinely as he possibly can. He's elated to see his old friend again, but wishes that it was under much different circumstances; preferably in a universe where Michaela Pratt doesn't exist. He considers offering him a hug, but settles for a firm, fond handshake over the desk.

Everyone looks a little puzzled, most of all Michaela, who anxiously runs a hand through her smooth hair.

“So...this is your fiance?” Connor asks her. She responds with a nod, placing a possessive hand on Aiden's chest.

It makes his blood boil.

“The wedding is in June, we just _have_ to have it during the summer. There's no better time.” she goes on, smiling warmly in Aiden's direction.

Connor's two seconds from visibly retching, but he keeps himself in line, returning his attention to the task at hand. Once he hands Michaela her money, he returns his hands to his pockets, trying to tame the mild tremble in them.

After all of these years, he sincerely believed he wouldn't care as much anymore. But time elapsed has done nothing to lessen his feelings for Aiden.

“I'm gonna be around for the majority of the week, maybe we could grab a beer?” Aiden offers, his smile hopeful.

He's never been able to turn him down, a tendency which can't change simply because he's stuck with his least favorite colleague as his soulmate.

“Sure, yeah. I'd like that a lot, it'd give us a chance to catch up.” Connor agrees, meeting Aiden's smile with one of his own. It's nowhere near as sincere or steadfast, but it's the very best he can offer in the moment.

“Cool, alright.” He reaches for Michaela's hand quickly, grazing it with his own before he speaks. “I'll go pull the car around, babe.” Connor makes a point to turn his head away while he places a kiss on her cheek, his stomach churning in a way it never has before. Not this intensely, at least.

“I'll text you later to figure out a day, Walsh.” Aiden mentions offhandedly before leaving the bank, leaving Michaela and Connor in one another's company again. He's sure that she doesn't even realize what she's just exposed as she pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, a hint of ink showing just behind her ear lobe.

The A and the I are clear. He doesn't need to see the rest to know what name the letters spell.

He could easily shrink into himself, like he feels he might just do the moment she leaves, but he wears the smuggest grin he can muster up in the meanwhile.

“I guess we have _far more_ in common than I ever would have guessed.” he quips, drumming his hands on the wooden surface in front of him.

Michaela doesn't even offer up a reply, only shooting him a strange look before leaving.

The glee of having something over on Michaela doesn't last long, because ultimately, it means nothing. Just from Aiden's expression alone, he can tell that the past few years of his life haven't been spent fondly recalling their time at boarding school together.

It was a phase, or it was experimenting. Quite possibly both, but it amounts to the same.

The rest of his work day passes by slowly, each minute dragging. It's because he's so damn stuck in his head. As everyone gathers their things and heads home, Connor offers to close up.

As he wanders to the front door to lock up, he hears a muffled voice shouting _“Wait!”_ from behind the glass door, turning the corner from where the ATM is.

Opening the door, Connor's brows knit together impatiently, his bad mood from before only tripling now that someone is trying to keep the bank open later. “Dude, we're closed. Technically, we closed four minutes ago.”

The man standing before him looks about as haphazard as he currently feels, his glasses tilting to the side as he rushes to reach the entrance.

“Please, I just realized there's something wrong with my account. My checks have been bouncing and even though I thought maybe it was something I'd done wrong, I'm meticulous about my budgeting.” he says breathlessly, but Connor stopped listening the moment he heard the sound of his voice.

There's a pang of recognition, but he can't place it for sure, so he pushes it down. The two lock gazes for a second, Connor keeping his stern before he eventually relents, rolling his eyes as he lets the man inside.

“You might be meticulous but if you let a few checks bounce before showing up here, you're nowhere near as careful as you'd like to believe you are.” he grouses, heading behind the desk. He's left one computer on, just in case, and now he's glad that he did.

Once they're face to face, both on either side of the desk, Connor takes note of his features. The only word he can think of is warm, like a soft blanket on a stormy night, or a hug after an especially trying day. His every feature is kind, even if his expression is panic stricken. Perhaps he shouldn't find his frazzled state amusing, but Connor nearly wants to laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

“I need your card.” Connor murmurs without glancing towards him again, his eyes on the screen. As the man hands it to him, he catches sight of his palm, an unmistakable flash of ink contrasting against his skin.

The name it reads sends Connor's heart lurching, his complexion turning ashen in a split second.

“A-are you alright?” the other man asks, already so far gone himself for other reasons that he probably can't handle another person losing it as well.

Connor's eyes dart back to his, shaken by the situation. “Uh...yeah, I'm fine. Long day.” he lies, his voice just passive enough that it probably sounds true.

While he swipes the card and looks over his account, Connor forces himself to focus, knowing that even if he's having an internal crisis, so is the guy in front of him.

He doesn't even have to look at the name on the card. He already knows it's Oliver. It's almost as if he can feel the letters burning on his own wrist, still obscured behind his watch. Now more than ever, he grateful that he's never left it out in the open. This meeting was bound to happen one day, but he hadn't been even remotely prepared for it.

“Looks like you were hacked, buddy.”

Oliver groans loudly, burying his head in his hands while his elbows rest on the desk. “I knew it, I _knew_ it.” he rants, sighing deeply. “Why do I have the worst luck in the world?”

The first impression he's getting of the man is making Connor want to ask the very same thing, in regard to why he got a complete nutjob as his soulmate.

All at once, he's brought back to the initial dream he had of Oliver, where they were both unwittingly locked into a closet together for seven minutes in heaven.

Stealing a glance at him, everything from the panic attack, to the proximity, to the way his lips felt returns to him with vivid clarity.

“So now I'm just broke? I was robbed and there's nothing I can do?” Oliver bemoans, prompting Connor to roll his eyes yet again.

This guy is a trip, if nothing else.

“Would you just chill for a second?” he snaps, the lack of supervisors around him and his genuine lack of care making him speak more candidly than he normally would. “You're not broke. We're liable for these situations. Your money will be replaced, the bank is responsible for it. This happens a hell of a lot more often than you'd think.”

“Really?” Oliver asks, a trace of relief in his voice.

“Yeah, because apparently guys like you never learn not to have simple passwords like 1234, or literally making it _password.”_

“I work in an IT department; I didn't have a simple password, and I always updated it. I'm practically anal about--”

“I don't really care, okay?” Connor interrupts, shrugging. “The point is, you got screwed over. You're just lucky that we can fix it.”

This shuts Oliver up, and Connor is left feeling the slightest trace of guilt over the situation. It's not his fault that his account was compromised, and it's definitely not his fault that Connor's dealing with the shittiest day of his life.

While he works on repairing the damage done, he considers trying to make it up to him, peering up at his face in between mouse clicks. “Must be pretty annoying,” he says, glancing at Oliver's lightly balled up fist resting on the counter.

Oliver doesn't catch on to what he means for a moment, but the recognition shows on his face once he opens his hand and looks to his palm. C-O-N-N-O-R is spelled clearly right in the center of it.

He isn't sure how he feels about the way that Oliver smiles at the six letters, unable to decide whether the flip in his stomach is pleasant or nauseating.

“Everyone's always asking about it. It's kind of hard to keep it from popping up in conversation every time I go to shake someone's hand.” Oliver says, but he doesn't sound resentful. “Whoever this Connor guy is, he doesn't even know how often he comes up in conversation for me.” he laughs, the color draining just slightly from Connor's face again.

This is too much. Too fucking much.

“I'd be wearing gloves all the time if I were you; I couldn't put up with it.” he says honestly, making progress in fixing up Oliver's account while he speaks.

“Mind if I ask where yours is?”

Connor shrugs, shaking his head. “I don't mind, because it doesn't exist. Never got one.”

The way Oliver's face falls, as if he sincerely feels sorry for him is disconcerting, but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

“That's a shame, I'm sorry to hear it.”

“I'm not.” Connor answers easily, his mouth curling up into a forced grin as he looks up from the counter. “Alright." he segues, content to leave that topic behind. "We're going to get you a new card, new password, the whole nine yards, and you'll be contacted about the state of your account by tomorrow morning. The situation is taken care of and your card is cancelled now, so you don't have to worry about anything being compromised further.”

Handing over some paperwork for Oliver, Connor folds his arms in front of him.

“So...I just wait to hear back?” he asks, still looking uneasy and perplexed about the situation.

“Right. The problem is taken care of. If you need money for tonight or tomorrow, you're screwed but otherwise, there's nothing to worry about.”

He earns a small smile from Oliver with his blunt honesty. Connor tells himself he doesn't like the way the man looks when he's smiling.

Maybe he isn't as good at lying as he once believed himself to be.

Oliver sucks in a breath and then lets it out through his nose, his stature relaxing. “I can't thank you enough. I came in here thinking that my life was essentially over.”

“I noticed, trust me.” Connor replies, snorting. “It's no problem. I'm just doing my job.”

Oliver nods, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. “Well, I appreciate it more than I can say. I'm Oliver, by the way.

_I know,_ Connor thinks, but he makes himself nod instead.

Now it's his turn to offer up a name, and it sure as hell won't be his real one.

“Collin.”

Oliver beams with gratitude, his bright features doing something to lessen just how unpleasant Connor is feeling at the moment. “Colin. I'll remember that. Thank you again, and have a good night.” he finishes, turning on his heels and heading for the door. Before he steps out, he offers Connor one more smile, then heading back out to the parking lot.

While squaring away the last few odds and ends around the bank, Connor tells himself that now that he's met Oliver, the worst of it is over. Nothing needs to come of the meeting if he doesn't want it to.

Which is why it doesn't make sense that he snoops just a little bit into his account to see where the man works, finding that he's employed just across the street at the advertising company.

He stores the tidbit aside in the back of his head, just in case.


	4. Keep you away from the down side of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though he could leave and go back home, Connor wanted to continue nursing his drink and moping at the bar. He was already on his third and figured he might as well get completely hammered before arriving back at his apartment. 
> 
> One of his specialties is pitying himself to the point of a blackout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [insert it's been 84 years gif]
> 
> enjoy! feel free to comment since i can guarantee that feedback will get me writing more chapters quickly. you guys are the best. you can creep me on tumblr @gaynseys and send messages there, too.

“You know she's one of those micromanaging to-be husband killers you hear about on those murder shows, right?” Connor asks, tipping his drink back. He's on his third, and Aiden's still working on his first. “She's going to get life insurance on you, and then you'll mysteriously croak after being sick for a few weeks.” 

It's a severe exaggeration, this much Connor knows even in his inebriated state. Still, he can't help assuming it's somewhat plausible. Michaela's nothing but a frigid bitch.

Aiden barks out a laugh, just like Connor knew he would. “You make her out to be this horrible person.”

“She is!” he insists, a little louder than he means to. Drunk Connor has no volume control. “She'll poison you and then you'll be wishing you'd listened to me. Your old boarding school friend who would never lead you astray. You'll be wishing you had stuck with me. Fuck soul mates.”

The words taste just as bitter as they sound.

“I'm sensing a bit of jealousy, Walsh. I never pegged you for that type.”

Another problem with drunk Connor is that every emotion he feels is evident in his expression. His normally intact filter ends up completely deflated. 

“You wish.” Connor snarls, nursing his drink to keep himself from saying anything more.

His logic had been telling him that indulging Aiden on this outing wasn't a good idea. He was too wracked with unresolved feelings, filled to the brim with envy when it came to Michaela. Had she not been involved in his everyday life, it might have been easier to tolerate. The fact that they were not only in the same class, but both working under Annalise made it so his animosity was harder to keep under wraps.

She was a constant reminder now, made worse by the fact that she wasn't shy about flaunting Aiden at every available opportunity. Each time she showed off her shiny rock of an engagement ring, or she tucked a stray hair behind her ear just enough to expose Aiden's name there made Connor's blood boil.

Connor had never learned the art of subtlety. It was beginning to bite him in the ass.

“So...” Aiden murmurs, obviously trying to segue into a safer, less emotionally charged subject, “No luck on the soul mate front, huh?” he queries, giving a quick glance to Connor's wrist. “I know it's there. You can pretend it doesn't exist with everyone else, but I already know you have it.”

Connor tucks in that arm protectively without realizing it, as if obscuring it will stop Aiden from knowing he has a mark as well. Lying to people who hadn't grown up with him was easy. But Aiden knew literally every inch of Connor there was.

He had to stop thinking about that before he lost his mind.

Shrugging, Connor tips the glass in his hand, watching the last few drops of liquor in it slosh around. “Not like I'm actively looking.” he forces out. 

There's a beat of silence between them. The only piece of Aiden that Connor feels connected with is his past. Even if he looks the same and even managed to maintain the same inflection in his speech over the years, his maturity is clear. They'd had just enough time apart to turn them into different versions of themselves. As much as he doesn't want to feel it, Connor can't help the sense of loss sweeping over him. Everything was so temporary, and he was foolish for hoping he might not be the only one pining.

It wasn't a mistake he was going to make twice. Even the prospect of a soul mate wasn't enough to make him risk it.

Aiden shifts in front of him, leans in a little closer as if he's about to say something meaningful. Connor already knows he doesn't want to hear it.

“It's not as cliché or stupid as people make it out to seem, honestly. I even thought it was a little cheesy for a while. But then Michaela--”

“Yeah, I already got the whole you two are in love thing. I don't consider that inspiration to turn over a new leaf, though. You guys are a fluke.” Connor retorts, leaving out the fact that he has no faith in the fact that they'll last. Or, rather, that he doesn't want them to last.

Connor knows his own tendencies when it comes to romance. His only true feelings had been for Aiden, and outside of that, his willingness to explore other possibilities simply didn't exist. Every man who wandered in and out of his bed was fleeting.

He watches as Aiden takes a long sip of his drink, exasperation etched into his features. Somehow, Connor knew the evening would end up this way. All efforts to dull the pang of his own envy had been for naught.

“Dude,” he starts, shaking his head. “I don't know how you get through life like this.”

“Like this?” Connor shoots back, offended already just by his tone alone.

Aiden throws his hands up, looking for his words and then finding them a couple seconds later. “Like a miserable, bitter asshole.” he replies, making Connor wish he'd never inquired further. “Your whole no-strings approach was fine during high school. Almost everyone was like that and we all know every guy at school wanted you in their room. It worked for you, I get that.”

Snorting, Connor rolls his eyes and averts his gaze. “You were obviously a fan of my habits back then.”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.” Aiden mutters, only hesitating for a moment before starting up again. “Everyone's grown up since then, Connor. Everyone knows that hooking up and taking guys home for the night doesn't leave you feeling happy. You end up alone. But you're so afraid of commitment when there's someone out there who would probably do anything to meet you.”

Connor knows this all too well. The mere thought threatens to bring back up all the alcohol he's consumed so far.

“I'm not afraid of commitment. I'm repulsed by it.” Connor corrects him. “I'm not into that white picket fence, 2.5 children and a 401k lifestyle everyone else seems to want. You think you're somehow better than me for settling down?” he drawls, looking to Aiden for a reply. When he realizes it isn't coming, Connor continues on with his rant.

“I'm happy. I'm fucking elated living the way I am. I'm in graduate school. I've got a good job. I'm going to be making so much more money than everyone else I know once I'm done and I'll be having the time of my life. I won't be dealing with an impending divorce and my own spawn that were probably conceived as an accident anyway. Having a name written on my body doesn't make me bound to them. I don't belong to anyone. I never will.” 

He's breathing heavier after he finishes, his hands shaking a bit as well. Connor hates how worked up this entire topic makes him. Instead of feeling carefree and blissfully drunk, his emotions are getting the best of him.

Aiden looks him over blankly for a moment, before standing up from his stool. “I feel bad for you. I pity you because you're never going to be happy with your life. And now I know why we parted ways and barely spoke after graduation. I grew up and you never will.” 

The words bite through Connor's paper-thin layer of apathy. This is not how he wanted their dinner to go.

He doesn't say anything to stop Aiden as he reaches for his coat and puts down some money on the table to cover his drink, then walking to the door. There's no bouncing back from this. It would have been better if they'd never agreed to meet up at all. 

What had he been expecting? What good could possibly come from seeing an old flame who he had absolutely no chance with anymore?

And even if he had had a chance, what would that have meant for them? It was clear that Aiden was up for something long term; not the kind of casual attachment Connor could provide.

It didn't even matter. Michaela had him wrapped around her finger. That had been put in place for years now.

Even though he could leave and go back home, Connor wanted to continue nursing his drink and moping at the bar. He was already on his third and figured he might as well get completely hammered before arriving back at his apartment. 

One of his specialties is pitying himself to the point of a blackout.

Bowing his head and looking at the bottom of his glass, he only tips his gaze back up when he hears someone approaching the bar. They're a few stools away, back turned towards Connor. But he doesn't have to see his face to know who he is once he speaks. 

“Just a beer, please.” the man says, seating himself with a soft sigh. It only takes his voice for Connor to realize who it is.

If he didn't know better, he'd think that perhaps Oliver Hampton was stalking him.

He quickly looks back down, hoping against hope that the other man hadn't even noticed him. Although Connor still has Oliver's contact info—just out of morbid curiosity, he keeps telling himself—he wasn't prepared to actually see the man again.

His hopes of being discreet and slipping away in a few seconds are dashed almost immediately.

“Hey, Collin, right?” he hears from beside him.

Connor turns his head, remembering the alias he'd given the man while they were at the bank.

“Yeah, hey there.” he answers as casually as he can, despite the sinking feeling taking residence in his gut. It's intimidating to make eye contact with Oliver, but he doesn't know why. There's a pull that makes him extremely uncomfortable. “Come here often?” he asks, forcing humor into his tone.

It seems to work as Oliver gives a nod and then a small smile. “I do, but I find myself regretting it each time.”

This isn't an opportunity Connor should be taking to engage in conversation. His curiosity shouldn't even be getting the best of him. And yet, it is.

Connor turns in his seat just enough to see Oliver more clearly. He immediately regrets it when he notices how nicely dressed Oliver is.

“And why's that?”

Oliver's drink is placed in front of him, and his hands curl around it. “Every time I get asked out on a date, I always get stood up. Every time without fail.” he murmurs, putting on a smile even though it's obviously not genuine. “I'm pathetic for even telling you this. I'm not trying to sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I guess it just sucks.” 

Unsure what to say in reply, Connor sits quietly and hopes that the course of conversation will change. Even better – that it will cease completely. 

“You'd think I'd stop trying, right?” Oliver asks rhetorically, Connor assumes, letting out a soft laugh. “It's not as if any of them are who I'd end up with, anyway. Not who I'm meant to be with."

To fight off the growing lump in his throat, Connor swallows and decides to engage him in conversation. The other man seems starved for it. “Do you know what a self-fulfilling prophecy is, by chance?”

Oliver chuckles, nodding to him. “I'm the very definition of it, aren't I?”

“You're damn right you are.”

He finds himself laughing along with Oliver, because he's drunk and it's hard not to find amusement in the other man's misery. It's making his own feel more tolerable. 

“Would you find it even more pathetic if I said that sometimes, I intentionally try to date guys named Connor?” he asks, looking down at his palm briefly.

Snorting, Connor shrugs. “It could be worse; you could be looking for whoever this guy is on that soul mate search website.” he offers, figuring that it was a low Oliver probably hadn't reached yet.  
When he doesn't get a response, Connor turns to him.

“Really?”

“Can you blame me?” the other man asks, his shoulders slumping more and more as they talk. “It's obvious that it's not going to work out with anyone else. Either guys have already found their soul mate, or they're not interested in...” he hesitates, gesturing to himself. “This. I'm not the type of person that gets guys lining up to date me. If I looked like you, I'd have more luck.”

Connor isn't sure why, but hearing Oliver compare himself to him is irksome. Mostly because he's thinking that there's nothing about the man that is unappealing. 

Now he turns completely in his seat, more comfortable with making eye contact. “What's wrong with how you look?”

“Come on,” Oliver says, rolling his eyes. “You don't need to make me feel better or whatever. Especially if that's going to include blatantly lying to me.”

“Your problem is that you're a Debbie downer, Oliver. It has nothing to do with your looks. Get some confidence and you'll have more luck with getting some. Or...falling in love, whatever you're trying to do.” he mutters. 

A silence falls between them, Oliver's eyes fixed on his open palm. He immediately turns it back to hold his glass, almost self-consciously before he looks over at Connor again. “I kind of envy you. Not having a mark and everything.”

Nearly forgetting the lie he'd told him when they first met, he takes a moment to react.

“A name on your hand doesn't have to dictate your life. You don't like the feeling of inevitability? Ignore it. It's your life, man. Don't let something as stupid as love hold you back from living it.”

He knows how cynical it sounds, how heavily his thoughts concerning romance differ from most people. He might have been able to hold back his own negative commentary if his night with Aiden hadn't gone so poorly. The sour taste left in his mouth has him spitting out every bitter thought that crosses his mind.

“So what would you suggest then?”

“For one,” Connor begins, downing the last of his drink and deciding inwardly that he won't go for a fourth. The night might be young, but suddenly he isn't all that interested in spending the evening sitting over his toilet bowl. “Stop going on that damn website and intentionally trying to date Connor's.” he instructs, secretly trying to get Oliver off his scent – even if he doesn't know he is. “And stop looking for love. If it's going to happen, it'll come to you when you least expect it. Isn't that one of those cliché sayings? So stop trying so hard. Just enjoy meeting guys and fucking around.”

“I don't actually do that.”

“Do what?”

Oliver gestures vaguely with his hands, making no sense at all to Connor. After a few seconds, he clarifies with words. “Fuck around. I like having sex when it means something.”

Unable to hold back his groan, Connor shakes his head and laughs under his breath. “You just want to be alone forever. I'd rather take a guy home every single night instead of wait for something that might never happen. In fact, getting that much action is ideal for me.”

Oliver drums his hands on the wooden surface beneath him, looking like he's mulling something over before he pipes up. His voice shakes a little bit when he speaks. “Maybe you'd be the kind of guy who could teach me how to do that.” Oliver proposes, looking over shyly before his expression turns from coy to cringe. “God, why did I even say that?” he laments, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up at the sides now, and it makes Connor smile a bit. “I'm so embarrassing. This is why I'm not dating anyone. Much less sleeping with them.”

Snorting, Connor doesn't stop himself from nodding. “I'm not about to argue with you on that.” he laughs heartily, taking a moment to compose himself before he speaks again. “But I'm not the kind of guy you should go for. At all.”

He can see Oliver getting ready to prod further and ask why that is, but he interrupts him before the topic can even rear its head.

“How about this – I'll be your wing man. I'll bring you to clubs and bars where I tend to meet guys, and we'll find you someone. And if you stutter on your words, you'll have me there to convince the guy that you're still somehow worth the effort. That you're a better lay than you are a talker. Deal?”

Connor can't stop asking himself if this is just a ploy to see him again. The fact that he can't come up with a concise answer is probably an answer in itself.

Oliver groans and wrings his hands together. “This is going to be mortifying, Collin.”

“No more mortifying than you all but propositioning me for sex”

At that, Oliver grins and turns a light shade of crimson. Connor watches it creep up to his ears and down his neck. Then he pulls his gaze away and forces himself not to think about it.

“Alright, alright. Point taken. It can't get much worse than what I'm already dealing with. I'll put my faith in you with this.”

Grinning, Connor nods and claps a hand on Oliver's back. Feeling the heat of his skin through the shirt sends a small rush of warmth through him. He's terrible at ignoring his own idiotic reactions to the man. But he recovers quickly enough, nodding over to him. “You won't regret it, I can promise that much.”


End file.
